


The First Year of the Rest of Their Lives

by ElliottRook



Series: Not Else, More [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale does not sing, Aziraphale loves to bake, Christmas, Crowley Has More Tattoos, Crowley Loves the Bentley (Good Omens), Crowley's Bad Driving (Good Omens), Curtain Fic, Domestic Fluff, Ducks, First Fight, M/M, Romantic Crowley (Good Omens), Slice of Life, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), St James's Park (Good Omens), Swearing, a robust and healthy sex life is heavily implied but there's no actual smut this time, other characters in passing but nobody else really appears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24995104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliottRook/pseuds/ElliottRook
Summary: Declarations of love have been made, and now Crowley and Aziraphale have to navigate actually getting what they both spent six thousand years dreaming of.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Not Else, More [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809292
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	The First Year of the Rest of Their Lives

“Say, angel, would you ever go away with me?”

Aziraphale looked up from the counter, surprised by the question. In the weeks since the Apocalypse, or the Armageddon't as Crowley had taken to calling it, they were nearly always together. They were no longer under threat, or apparently even surveillance, so he couldn't understand why Crowley would think it was necessary. He took his reading glasses off and set them down on the ledger he'd been updating. “My dear, I've told you before, I would run away with you anywhere if we were under attack, but...it's all been quiet...”

Crowley held up a hand. “No, angel—I meant on Earth...for an overnight. Or a weekend, maybe.” He smiled a little. “A lover's tryst. A getaway.”

Aziraphale blushed lightly. “Oh, well...I think I'd quite like that.”

Crowley leaned on the counter, and slid his torso closer, so he could put his hand over Aziraphale's on the ledger. “There's this botanical garden place, but it's a bit of a drive—“

“Could we take a train?” Aziraphale asked, cutting him off.

“No,” Crowley said. “Well—maybe, I haven't looked into it, angel, we can just drive, it's not a big deal...”

Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, you know I don't like how you drive.” He hadn't been in the Bentley once in the time they'd finally been a couple. They'd walked and taken the bus, mostly, at least when they were together. Crowley drove, but only when he was alone.

“You know I've never hurt anyone!” Crowley said. “I mean, except the book girl, but—well, that was part of the _Plan_ , now wasn't it? You'll be perfectly safe. And so will everyone else. Promise, angel.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “You always say that...but you're so _reckless_.”

Crowley shook his head. “Not with you, angel. Please. I'd like to take you, and we could get a room. With one of those big bathtubs, with the bubbly jets. And we can bring champagne and...you know. All that stuff.” Crowley, as it turned out, was pretty good at _doing_ romantic gestures, but couldn't _talk_ about them without turning pink and stumbling over his words.

Aziraphale took in a breath, slowly. “Well...it _does_ sound like a lovely time...”

“There's a restaurant in the hotel I was looking at,” Crowley said. “Four stars and a long wine list...”

It took some wheedling, but Aziraphale caved over dinner. He _did_ want to go, and if he had to endure the drive, he reasoned that he could just keep his eyes closed for all of it. It would be worth the time with Crowley, who was bound to be adorable as he admired the plants they'd be seeing.

Crowley booked the room and made all the arrangements for a week later. Aziraphale was a little surprised that the demon insisted on leaving early in the morning (well, early by Crowley's standards, at least), but he didn't question it.

The morning of their trip, Crowley pulled up outside the bookshop and came inside to help Aziraphale with his suitcase, and only gently teased him about its being tartan before loading it into the Bentley next to his own (modern, tasteful, black, wheeled) suitcase. Aziraphale got in cautiously, and closed his eyes as soon as Crowley turned the key in the ignition.

He opened them a moment later when it felt like they'd barely moved. He looked around to discover that they still hadn't even made it off his street, even though there was hardly any traffic. When they did get to the crossroad, Crowley used his indicator and got in the correct lane.

It felt like more of a miracle than many of the actual miracles Aziraphale had performed over the years.

Aziraphale was silent until they got onto the motorway without once threatening the life of a pedestrian. He looked over at the speedometer and saw that Crowley was nearly obeying the speed limit, only going a little faster than the number on the signs.

“Crowley...?” he started. “Are...are you feeling quite all right...?”

Crowley's cheeks pinked faintly. “Well, angel...it's not like it used to be.”

“Are you afraid the Bentley will get damaged, after the fire?” Aziraphale ventured to guess.

“I'm going to ignore that insult to this beautiful machine only because I love you so much,” Crowley told him, gruffly. “If you must know...it's just...well, angel, I know we're safe in a way, because they're not watching us, but...if anything were to hurt you, if you got discorporated...I don't think they'd be inclined to issue you another body.”

Aziraphale frowned, and leaned back in the seat to let it sink in. “Oh...” Crowley was right, of course. Not that he'd become careless since the Apocalypse hadn't happened, but he'd _always_ been cautious. Even when he could count on his body getting replaced, discorporation was an inconvenience. Crowley had always played a bit more fast and loose than he had.

“You hadn't thought about it?” Crowley asked gently.

“No,” Aziraphale admitted. “We're so safe now, I just...”

“I know, angel,” Crowley said. “I'm still a paranoid bastard. And I won't let you get hurt. Especially not by something that's entirely in my hands.” He did take one hand off the steering wheel, though, to reach over and take Aziraphale's and squeeze reassuringly.

“Oh, Crowley...” Aziraphale felt himself melting. “I'd kiss you, if you weren't driving.”

“Save it for the hotel room,” Crowley said. “I'll be just as kissable when we get there.”

* * *

“You know, I think this might be the last decent day for a picnic this year,” Aziraphale told Crowley. “It's supposed to rain tomorrow and I don't think it's going to warm back up again until spring.” As it was, there was a little bit of a nip in the air, despite the bright sunlight. Aziraphale had opted for a jumper rather than a waistcoat, and Crowley had gotten out his winter coat to fight the chill.

“Decent might be a little generous, angel, it's getting cold already.” Crowley was curled in a tight ball close to the angel's side as they sat on their picnic blanket in the park. “Tolerable might be more like it.”

“Well, either way, I'm glad we came while we still had the chance. We'll have to do this more in the summer next year,” Aziraphale said. “If you're done eating, too, you could come a little closer.”

Crowley slipped up next to him and pulled Aziraphale's arm around his shoulders before the chill could get any deeper. They were still somewhat wary of very public affection, but he was too cold to fight the snuggling just then.

Aziraphale rubbed Crowley's back in slow circles to try and warm him up. “We can go home,” he said, softly.

“I'm all right,” Crowley said. “Want to enjoy this. After tomorrow it'll be miserable outside.”

Aziraphale nodded and rested his chin on Crowley's head. “All right, darling.” He settled back, idly watching the people passing by through the park, and the ducks on the water.

“Are there any grapes left? We could feed the ducks,” Crowley suggested.

Aziraphale shook his head. “I wasn't thinking, I didn't pack any extra. I do believe they're getting plenty of treats from the Russian agent today, though,” he said, quietly so the agent wouldn't hear him.

Crowley chuckled. “No doubt throwing the next American election,” he murmured. Aziraphale made a face of distaste that Crowley could feel without seeing. “That was my side, but I didn't touch it,” Crowley added, apologetically. “That one they've got over in America is as bad as Caligula in some ways.”

“Just the thought of him makes my skin crawl. Let's change the subject,” Aziraphale said.

“Right. That agent's new, where do you think she's from?” Crowley asked, nodding towards a redheaded woman pushing a pram.

Aziraphale studied her for a moment. “Crowley, love, I think that one may not be an agent. I suspect she's a nanny.”

Crowley lifted his head for a better look. “Mmm, that would explain the pram, I suppose. Unless it's full of super spy equipment...” He smiled a little, always pleased when someone was being devious. Aziraphale was distracted, though, and didn't laugh. “Angel?” Crowley prodded.

“Sorry, dear. I was just looking at her hair,” Aziraphale said. The woman's auburn curls were mostly hanging loose, ruffled in the breeze.

“Distracting, is it?” Crowley asked.

“It reminds me of you fifteen years ago,” Aziraphale said. “Before you cut it. I'm a bit sorry I missed that.”

“You didn't miss it, you saw quite a bit of me that decade,” Crowley said, confused. “Relatively, I mean.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No—yes, I mean—well, I never got to _touch_ it,” he explained. “I imagine it would've been quite lovely. When we saw each other at Golgotha it was nearly irresistible.”

“Oh, you liked it long?” Crowley asked. “Really?”

“It was beautiful, love,” Aziraphale told him.

Crowley smiled a little. “Well, I can grow it out again, if you liked it so much,” he offered. “I miss it, too.”

“Really? You'd do that?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded. “Sure,” he agreed. “You just have to promise not to mock me when it's at the awkward length and I look like I did in the sixties.”

“I promise...so long as you promise not to grow back the mustache of the seventies,” Aziraphale said.

“I liked the mustache!” Crowley protested.

“Yes, but I think you like kissing more.”

Crowley hissed a little. “...you've got me there.”

* * *

Aziraphale fell back to the mattress with a happy groan. “Oh, Crowley...”

Crowley was shifting over Aziraphale, and he laid next to him, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Brilliant, angel,” he murmured.

Aziraphale cleaned them both up with a soft wave of his hand. “Like always.”

Crowley kissed his cheek before kicking at the sheet so he could grab it and pull it over them. He slipped his arm over Aziraphale, curling onto his side and pressing against the angel. “Mmm. Nap?”

Aziraphale shrugged a shoulder. “I'm not really tired, love.” But Crowley's eyes were already closed and he hung on to Aziraphale, snuggling close. “Crowley?”

Crowley was already out.

Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes. He tried to go to sleep for a few minutes, but it just wasn't coming. He occasionally took a nap with Crowley, but he just didn't enjoy it the same way. He could be _reading_. Or eating. Anything was better than just tapping out of reality for a short period.

He waited until he was sure Crowley was completely out, and slowly wriggled out from under his arm, so as not to wake him. He got up and pulled on his robe before heading to the kitchen, then put on the kettle and got out a mug, putting together tea. He rushed to take the kettle off before it could whistle much, not wanting to wake Crowley.

Still, before the tea could finish steeping, Crowley, clad only in his boxers, was wrapping himself around Aziraphale, pressing to his back. “You left,” he murmured, sleepily.

“I wasn't tired,” Aziraphale reminded him.

“I got cold,” Crowley murmured. “Want you in bed.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You had me. Twice.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, love...I sleep better, if you're there. You're warm.”

Aziraphale paused. “Oh...because you're cold.”

“Yeah.” Crowley nodded. “'M always cold.” He nuzzled at Aziraphale's neck. “Don't like it when you leave me alone like that at night.”

Aziraphale turned in his arms and hugged Crowley gently, rubbing his back. “I don't really like to sleep,” he said. “I don't want to stop you, though.”

“Could stay in bed,” Crowley said. “Read a book, or whatnot. Eat snacks. Bring 'em in before we fuck.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Well, I was just going to read, now. I can bring my book to bed,” he agreed. “Would you like that? If I planned on staying in bed with you when you sleep?”

Crowley smiled against his shoulder. “Yes, please.” He sighed softly. “Just want to be close to you, angel. Always.”

Aziraphale kissed his hair, now getting shaggy as the weather got colder outside—no wonder Crowley wanted a heat source, Aziraphale realized. “All right, love. I'll leave books by the bed and I won't leave you alone when you sleep. Let me finish up my tea, and I'll be right there.”

Crowley lifted his head and kissed his cheek. “I'll wait here. I love you, angel.” He peeled away and leaned against the counter. “Warmer in here.”

Aziraphale nodded. It only took him a moment to put his tea together, and then to fetch a book and lead the way back to his bedroom. He settled back against the headboard, and Crowley snuggled up close, curled up in the fetal position, spine against Aziraphale's soft thigh. Aziraphale played with his hair with his free hand as he started to read and Crowley was out within a minute.

* * *

“My place or yours tonight?” Crowley asked, as Aziraphale buckled himself into the Bentley, after a sushi dinner and a movie. Crowley shifted into drive, foot on the brake while he waited for the answer.

“I dare say it doesn't matter,” Aziraphale said. “We have everything we need at both places. Which is closer? Yours, I think?” It was true, now there was always food at Crowley's place, and wifi at Aziraphale's, and everything they could want for sex at both.

“That's all right,” Crowley said. “Just, we were at mine last night, I didn't want to assume.” He pulled out into the traffic and headed towards home.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment. “Crowley, love...”

“Hmm?”

“Have we spent any nights apart?” Aziraphale asked. “Since—since your trial?” He didn't quite think of his as a trial—Gabriel had simply wanted to execute him.

Crowley tilted his head, trying to remember. “Well...no, come to think of it.” They did part ways during the day. Sometimes. Rarely. Barely at all, and never for long. “Why, did you want to?” he asked, as an afterthought, suddenly worried.

“No, not at all,” Aziraphale said. “The opposite, actually, I'm much happier seeing you every day. Every night, and then again in the morning when you first wake up.” Crowley was grumpy when he woke, but only just enough to be endearing. He smiled warmly. “I was simply thinking...”

“Yes, angel?”

“Well, _is_ there really any point in having two of everything?” Aziraphale asked. “I mean—yes, it's not like we can't miracle up what we need if we forget, but—what—what if it was just all in one place?”

Crowley took a long moment to savor the question, smile slowly growing wider. “Angel, love...are you asking me to move in together?”

Aziraphale smiled at the thought. “Yes. I am,” he said.

“Well, my place or yours?” Crowley asked.

“Oh...well, I rather imagined you in the bookshop with me,” Aziraphale said. “Your place is...very modern, and it's...very you, but...”

“It's not to your taste, I know,” Crowley said. “You would hate it if I wasn't there.”

“And the plants are lovely, but of course you'd bring them with,” Aziraphale hurried to assure him.

“Of course,” Crowley repeated, as he pulled into his parking space. “Your place is very you, Aziraphale, but...it's not very stylish.” The bookshop was old-world elegant, but the flat was less so. It was cozy. Warm. A bit cramped for two, and it was fine for an overnight but Crowley couldn't see himself and the plants fitting in comfortably for a lifetime—and they could be stuck there a thousand lifetimes, possibly, if the surrounding neighborhood stayed pleasant. It lacked the most modern conveniences of his own home.

Aziraphale pouted a bit as they both got out and made their way into Crowley's building. “Well, what would you suggest, then? If neither of us wants to live in the other's flat?”

Crowley tipped his head back as they got into the lift. “Mmm. We could get another place. You can keep the bookshop of course. Maybe a bit out of the city so I could go on long drives, you could miracle yourself back and forth...”

“I thought you loved London,” Aziraphale said.

“I do, but it's less of a problem when you have a car and you can miracle yourself around...might be nice not to have neighbors too close. Nobody too close but you, love,” Crowley said. “Days in the city, nights in a little cottage with ivy growing all over it, with a fire in a big fireplace...could I tempt you into making love on a bearskin rug in front of it?”

Aziraphale sputtered and blushed as they got off the lift. “I—how could—would you really—well, maybe, it does sound very soft...”

Crowley grinned as they went into his flat. “You could rent out the flat over the shop,” he mused. “If you wanted. Or we could just keep it for a little rendezvous now and then. Not a bad place for a dinner and a roll in the hay, it's just...cramped, you know?” He locked the door behind them.

Aziraphale nodded. “Would you want to keep your flat?”

“No,” Crowley said. “It's just a place for my things, really. The things can go anywhere. What matters is being comfortable with you. The plants and the telly and the throne can all go with.” He pushed Aziraphale gently against the wall, pressing to him, and kissed him warmly. “We can set about looking for a place tomorrow...call up one of those real estate people...”

They did, but the thought was forgotten for the next few hours.

* * *

They went through human channels to find their cottage—in the South Downs, with a short walk to a seaside view—but opted to move in via miracles.

“It's perfect,” Crowley said, standing out in the front garden, with a happy sigh. It was built of stone and covered in the ivy he'd suggested. (He'd come by the day before to shout at it and make sure it was all growing perfectly, with Aziraphale none the wiser.)

Aziraphale stood beside him, a box of books in his arms. “Perfect for us,” he agreed. It wasn't very large, but there was a modernized kitchen, and a guest room if they ever had need. There was a garage to keep the Bentley out of the elements, which Crowley hadn't realized he wanted until they'd viewed the cottage. It had good bones, as the real estate agent had said, and they had plans to miracle in a few improvements.

Crowley grinned. “Perfect for us.” He headed inside, and the unpacking and arranging began.

It took most of the day, and thankfully they found they agreed on most things—Crowley miracled some paint on the walls in a few rooms, and Aziraphale doubled the width of the tub in the ensuite bathroom, and they easily sorted out their duplicate kitchen items. Mostly they kept Aziraphale's—some of Crowley's were still in their packaging.

“I still can't believe you brought this,” Aziraphale said, staring at the statue from Crowley's flat.

“I don't have a bookshop, I had to bring everything,” Crowley pointed out. “Don't look so gobsmacked. They're just _wrestling_ , angel.” That was a dubious claim, the naked angel and demon wrapped around one another in a way that left that very open to interpretation.

“I believe _we've_ been in that position,” Aziraphale told him, archly.

“Don't think so...we could try it out sometime,” Crowley said, grinning. “Come here, we can do it now...” He shrugged out of his jacket.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You're incorrigible. Do we really have room for it?” he asked.

“Well, maybe not here, but we could go up to the bedroo—“

“The _statue_ , Crowley,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley cackled. “I know, angel, but your face—oh, all right. I thought we could put it in the library and put those big plush chairs under it.”

“How is anyone supposed to _read_ with that distraction?!” Aziraphale sputtered.

“Well, it can go in the bedroom, then,” Crowley said. “For inspiration.”

“Inspiration to wrestle?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley smiled. “Something like that.” He slipped up behind Aziraphale and wrapped his arms around him. “Please, angel? I do want to keep it.” He hadn't argued for much in the way of decorations, if Aziraphale had had a strong opinion.

Aziraphale sighed. “Well...maybe we could put it by the fireplace. With your telly.”

Crowley nodded. “So that room...living room, den? That's mine, and the library is yours?” he asked.

“That seems fair to me,” Aziraphale said. “It looks more modern in the den.”

“All right, angel, but if that's the case I'm painting it grey like my old flat.”

“Deal,” Aziraphale agreed.

Crowley waved a hand, and moved the statue to his den. “I'll be in there for a bit, want to organize the movies and such,” he said.

“Quite all right. I was thinking of baking,” Aziraphale said. “Fresh scones for teatime.”

Crowley smiled. “See, I like this about having a house...we can be nearby without tripping over each other. Call me when they're ready?” he said, sauntering down towards the hallway.

“Of course!” Aziraphale headed for the kitchen, beaming.

* * *

It was almost surprising how easily they settled into a routine. It was just as Crowley had suggested, they spent a lot of their days in the city, around humans, and then spent their evenings and nights together in the cottage, with no one nearby to bother them. The nearest neighbors were close enough to walk to, but just far enough away not to be heard, nor hear Crowley screaming at the plants.

Crowley _loved_ having an entire garden to yell at—he transplanted the plants from his flat that were suitable for the outdoors into the garden—and Aziraphale loved the domesticity of all of it. It thrilled him to see Crowley's things next to his own—both their robes, both their shoes lined up in the closet, Crowley's mobile phone left on top of a stack of his books, his razor next to Crowley's hairbrush, full of hair now that it was down to Crowley's chin.

On Sunday afternoons they'd go for a drive over the country roads, or down to the seaside. It was too cold to swim, of course, but Crowley pulled a promise from Aziraphale that they'd do it come summertime.

The first time it snowed, Aziraphale stayed home just to spend the day with Crowley, wrapped in warm jumpers. He baked cookies and a pumpkin pie, and Crowley ate just because Aziraphale had gone to the effort.

“Do you do Christmas?” Crowley asked, sipping at some coffee once his slice of pie was gone.

Aziraphale paused. “I usually put some greenery up in the shop,” he said. “Celebrating is really more for the humans.”

“Aren't you supposed to sing or something?” Crowley asked.

“Misconception, it's not even in the Bible that angels sing. Honestly, can you even imagine Gabriel trying to carry a tune?” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Well, no, but I can imagine you caroling in a group of people in matching jumpers,” Crowley told him.

Aziraphale smiled a little. “I suppose...”

“Do you want to do Christmas?” Crowley asked. “Not the religious bits, of course, but...the big dinner, and presents, and decorations?” he suggested. “I think I'll be all right so long as nothing has crosses on it.”

“Who would we have for dinner?” Aziraphale asked. “Just us?”

Crowley thought about it for a moment. “Mmm. Maybe Anathema and Newt. The Shadwells. If they don't have anywhere else to go, of course, or we could have the dinner a day or two early if they do have plans. No one says no to a free dinner if they're free.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I could make all kinds of pies.”

Crowley chuckled. “And a gingerbread house.”

“Oh! That would be delightful!” Aziraphale agreed. “I think I should start making a list.” He opened the junk drawer and got out a scratch pad and a pen.

Crowley smiled at him. “You're precious. We can look up a list online, you know. Christmas dinner checklist. Someone's done the hard part for us.”

Aziraphale nodded absently. “Oh, yes...would you look it up?”

Crowley got out his phone to scroll. “I could text everyone to see about when they're free close to Christmas.” He grinned. “And I'll have to find you a beautiful present.”

Aziraphale blushed. “And I'll do the same. We should get some gifts for the guests, too, though, we can go into the city and go Christmas shopping!” He was getting more excited the more they talked about it.

“Sounds like fun,” Crowley said, feeling himself melt all over again for his angel. He stood from his chair and leaned over the counter so he could kiss him. “Everything's fun with you, though,” he murmured.

Aziraphale smiled warmly. “That's why I wanted to be with you,” he reminded him. “Everything _is_ better with you.”

* * *

They had their jolly holiday celebration, the cottage decorated with greenery and tinsel stars and fairy lights. Crowley hated the cold, but the warmth Aziraphale infused into everything made it the most pleasant winter he'd ever experienced. They weren't related to their guests, but it felt like having a family.

The year turned over to one they hadn't expected would ever happen. Crowley and Aziraphale spent the eve at Jasmine Cottage, surrounded by Anathema and Newt's young friends, but with eyes only for each other. It was a first New Year's kiss for both of them, and they parted to hooting and hollering from some of the other guests—what with Aziraphale laying atop Crowley's chest on the couch, the demon's foot kicking in the air, both of them more than tipsy.

Anathema just laughed and hushed the crowd. “Let them be, they've earned this.”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale into the kitchen and quietly miracled them home, rather than risk the Bentley driving. He could come back for it the next day.

At home, Crowley pulled Aziraphale close and fumbled into a slow dance with him. It was no gavotte, but Aziraphale fell into step with him somehow anyway.

“Never thought we'd make it this far,” Crowley whispered.

“The world was ending,” Aziraphale agreed.

“No, angel, I mean—you and me,” Crowley said. “I felt lucky just to finally kiss you, after we got away...never dreamed we'd be sharing a life this way only five months later. Thought it'd take years...and then it was your suggestion.” He nuzzled at Aziraphale's neck. “I love you so much, angel...I don't know if I tell you enough.”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek. “I know you do, love.” He didn't have to hear it every minute. Crowley was more about showing than telling. He did say the words often enough for Aziraphale, but Aziraphale could also feel it in the hand-picked bouquets from the garden, in the tea brewed for him, in perfect wine pairings and surprise gifts, in a thousand little gestures every day. “I love you, too, darling.”

“This year is going to be our finest so far,” Crowley murmured. “All of them will be, now.” It was finally beginning to sink in that this was the rest of their existence, stretching out ahead of them. The pining was over with. They could just _be_ , and continue to be, for eternity. Over time, of course, they'd probably move around, their home would change, their friends would change, the world would change around them and they'd have to adapt to new fashions and habits, but the two of them as a pair would be steadfast through the upcoming ages. The bond between them had undergone a fairly radical change, and it had felt unsteady at first even as it had brought unimaginable happiness. But now, together in their kitchen, swaying softly, pressed against each other, it was clear that it had somehow become solid footing again when neither of them had been paying attention. Their foundation was as sturdy as the stone of their house.

Aziraphale smiled, nuzzling against his neck. “There will be so many,” he murmured. “I hope we have more years together than we did staying apart. Many more.”

“I'm not going anywhere, angel,” Crowley promised. “I want to keep dancing with you.” With a tiny miracle, he turned on the speaker in the kitchen, and Queen's _Teo Torriatte_ started playing softly.

“Oh, this one's sweet,” Aziraphale murmured.

“The Bentley likes it a lot,” Crowley said, chuckling softly. “It makes me think of us.”

“We _should_ cling together,” Aziraphale agreed. “That's all I want to do. Stay here with you. Enjoy retirement. Live our life.”

Crowley pressed a kiss to his hair. “Curl together against the cold,” he murmured. “We should do that right now. Come to bed, angel?” he suggested.

“Of course.”

* * *

If he was only short one ingredient, of course, Aziraphale would miracle what he needed for his cooking, but for the most part he preferred to actually buy what they needed. They made a weekly trip to the grocery store, usually on Fridays. That particular Friday was a wet spring morning, and Aziraphale stared glumly out the window. The sky was grey and dull, and he was ready to get gone and get the shopping done. The problem was, he couldn't walk in this weather (it was a bit far even in good weather, and usually there was too much to carry back even with two of them), and Crowley was still asleep. He was likely to sleep _very_ late, because rain was “good sleeping weather,” he'd told Aziraphale many times.

Aziraphale got antsy about it. He couldn't focus on a book, he didn't have everything he needed to bake, and the rain showed no signs of letting up. He tidied the entire house and Crowley still wasn't up.

He went in their room to check on him, and Crowley was sprawled like a starfish across the entire bed. He smiled fondly, but Crowley seemed nowhere near wakefulness. If only he could just go without Crowley, who found the shopping boring anyway...

Wait. The Bentley was no ordinary car, it ran largely on miracles. It hadn't had petrol in it since the late sixties, after all. Aziraphale didn't technically know how to drive, but he knew how to miracle, and that was just fine with the Bentley. Why wait for Crowley? At this rate he could go and come back before Crowley woke up.

Aziraphale went out to the garage a bit nervously, but he slid into the driver's seat and tested the key—still in it, since the car lived securely in the garage now. It started up same as always. Aziraphale wasn't sure it would work for anyone else, but he'd spent enough time inside of it that the Bentley seemed to accept his presence. He opened the garage door with the remote, and moved the stick to shift gears like he'd seen Crowley do. He tentatively started rolling the car forward—by miracle. He knew that Crowley pushed the floor pedals, somehow, but he didn't know which was which and didn't want to break anything.

He went much slower than Crowley, of course. Some of the neighbors he passed were happy to finally get a good look at the car now that it was driving by at a reasonable speed, and he waved at them cheerfully.

The shopping was easy enough, and Crowley was still asleep when he got back, without incident, thankfully. Crowley stumbled into the kitchen just as Aziraphale was putting away the last bag. “Coffee?” he mumbled, cozying up against Aziraphale's back.

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course, dear, half a minute. Do you want a scone or anything?”

Crowley shook his head, nuzzling against Aziraphale's shoulder. “Jus' coffee.”

Aziraphale thought he'd gotten away with it. Crowley didn't even question why they didn't need to do the shopping, they always seemed to buy more than they needed, skipping a week was bound to happen sooner or later.

All was well...until Monday.

“ _Angel!_ ” Crowley bellowed, from the garage. “What the bloody hell has happened to my car?!”

Aziraphale came to the garage, timidly. “What are you on about?” he asked, frowning.

Crowley looped his arm through Aziraphale's and dragged him around to the passenger side of the Bentley. “What,” he said, “The _fuck_. Happened to _my car_.”

There was a very, very tiny ding on the passenger door. Barely a nick in the paint. Not even visible from a meter away. Very possibly caused by, for instance, a shopping trolley rolling into the side of the car.

Crowley pointed at it accusingly as if it were a gouge down the entire frame. “How. How could this possibly happen with the car parked here, safely, in its own personal sanctuary?”

Aziraphale looked away guiltily. “Perhaps it's been there a while, and you just didn't notice?”

“It wasn't there Thursday when I came back from the post office with your books!” Crowley snapped. “And it hasn't moved since—” He gasped, and stalked around the car. “It isn't where I parked it,” he said. “It's crooked.”

Aziraphale thought he'd steered better than that, but he simply lacked the experience.

“Angel?” Crowley demanded, coldly, crossing his arms. “What do you know?”

Aziraphale was a terrible liar, he couldn't do it to save his life. Crowley's life, but not his own. “I...I don't...”

“Angel.” Crowley tapped his foot. “Don't even try.”

“Can't you just miracle it out?” Aziraphale asked, voice raising in anxiety. “It's barely noticeable! It—it's practically invisible!”

“Not the point!” Crowley said, raising his arms over his head. “What the hell did you _do_?”

Aziraphale started to cry. “I—I just—“

Crowley calmed down at the sight of tears, holding up both hands in front of himself, in surrender. “Wait—wait—you actually _did_ something?”

“I—I took it,” Aziraphale admitted. “You were asleep, and I waited and waited—and I just—it was just to the shops and back, I—I was so careful, I didn't _hit_ anything, it—nothing hit me, I—I can't imagine where that's from, I just—“

“You did the shopping,” Crowley said, flatly. “You drove without me. Do you even have a license?” he asked.

“Do you?” Aziraphale snapped back.

“Yes!” Crowley said. Initially issued in 1926, two days after buying the Bentley (when he'd gotten his first speeding ticket), and updated by miracle.

“...oh.” Aziraphale stepped back against the work bench that was off to one side and leaned back against it, bracing himself with his hands. “I swear to you I didn't get in an accident, Crowley.”

Crowley walked around and crouched down for a closer look. “Must've been a trolley,” he mumbled, and he glared back at Aziraphale. “Why would you do that?”

“...I didn't want to wake you,” Aziraphale said. “You—it was Friday. Sleeping weather. And I was a bit afraid you'd sleep until the store closed and I just...I thought, it went by miracle anyway, so it wouldn't matter if—if I didn't have a license, or...anything...”

Crowley leaned his forehead against the cool metal with a sigh. He pressed his hand against the ding and miracled it out, then he kissed the side of the car before standing and coming over to Aziraphale, who was watching, miserably. He sighed heavily. “Do you even know traffic laws, angel? Who has right of way, things like that?”

Aziraphale's voice wavered. “I...no,” he said. “Sort of? Not—not really.”

Crowley pulled him into a hug. “Shouldn't have shouted, I'm sorry,” he mumbled. “I know you can make the car go, but—you could've got hurt,” he pointed out. “Turned into someone's path or something.”

Aziraphale was surprised, but he wrapped his arms around Crowley. “Oh...” Crowley was worried about _him_. He should've known, Crowley had stuck to much better driving behavior, just like he'd sworn to.

“Can always fix the car. Can't—can't replace you,” Crowley muttered. “If you—I could teach you, angel, get you a license, too.”

Aziraphale sniffled. “I—I don't need to, I won't do it again, I promise, I didn't mean—“

Crowley squeezed him tighter. “Angel. You're what's important. Didn't mean to make you cry. Didn't want to _fight_.” He rubbed Aziraphale's back gently. “I love you. I—I shouldn't have got mad. Didn't really think you'd _done_ anything, I just—saw red, when I saw—“ He shook his head and buried his face against Aziraphale's neck. “Just wanted to throw a fit, really, but—I'm not mad at _you_. Mad at the idiot who banged into _my car_ and didn't even leave a note!”

Aziraphale wondered if the ding would have even been visible to human eyes.

* * *

The weather turned, soon enough, from damp to warm, and then hot. Aziraphale wore a layer less after Crowley's honeyed suggestions, and Crowley himself started pulling his hair back in a tiny ponytail to keep the length off his neck. Summertime was in full swing, and Aziraphale decided that the shop needed a reorganizing, so he was spending a lot of mornings there, sometimes open, but just as often not. Crowley hung around some days, playing on his phone, or just distracting Aziraphale for the sake of it, and other days he'd slink around his old haunts, making sure the city wasn't falling apart without his supervision. They'd have lunch and dinner together before heading home to the cottage.

One evening, Crowley was late coming back to the shop. Aziraphale barely noticed, having gotten lost in some reading, but he startled and hopped up when the shop bell jangled him out of the story. “Just me, angel!” Crowley called. “Got something to show you!”

Aziraphale padded up to the front of the shop. “Where have you been?” he asked, curiously, now that he was aware of the time again.

“Was waiting, for a while,” Crowley said. “Was a line, should've made an appointment maybe.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the coat rack, and then pushed up his right shirtsleeve, to the elbow.

Aziraphale gasped to see that Crowley's arm was wrapped with gauze of some sort. “Are you all right?” he asked, rushing close to check on his demon. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” Crowley said, calmly. “Paid a guy to do it.” He closed his eyes, focusing on his arm for a moment, forcing it to heal just as he wanted, and started unwrapping it. “Got another tattoo.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Oh, I—I didn't realize you actually—went to one of those places.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Miracling it in feels like cheating,” he said, shrugging a little. “Anyway. Got this for you.” He tossed the wrappings over the counter and into the bin, and then held out his forearm, perfectly healed, to show Aziraphale the new art.

It was a single white pinfeather, done in exacting detail, extending from his wrist, on the side under his thumb, the shaft of it at an angle so the feather wrapped around his arm and ended closer to the inside.

Aziraphale took in a soft breath. “Oh—oh, that's actually beautiful,” he said, taking Crowley's hand so he could turn his arm and inspect it from a few angles. He wasn't surprised, the three Crowley had already were pieces of art, too. “For me,” he repeated, and looked up to meet Crowley's eyes.

Crowley slipped off his glasses and smiled at him. “Yeah,” he said, softly. “All my tattoos are...pretty significant, you know, and...what's more significant than you, angel?”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “I love you,” he murmured. “I—I'm glad you did this. You could've told me,” he said.

Crowley shrugged. “Didn't want you to object,” he said. “Really wanted to—to have you on me. Mark myself as yours in a way that's not going to fade away all the time.” They almost always had hickeys hidden under their clothes, but Crowley wanted something permanent.

Aziraphale softened at the admission. “Well...yes, I probably would've,” he agreed. “You were probably right to do that. It came out beautifully.” He took a deep breath. “Is...is there any chance the artist is still working this evening?”

Crowley tilted his head. “Yeah, those kind of shops tend to be more of an afternoon and evening sort of thing, not many people wake up at the crack of dawn to go get a tattoo,” he said. “...why?”

“Well...” Aziraphale hesitated. “It—it's lovely, I'm so pleased...what if we matched?” he asked. He patted his left forearm.

Crowley frowned, and then his mouth dropped open. “What—really? You'd get a tattoo?” he asked, shocked.

Aziraphale smiled a little. “Well, it's hardly—it would be in my sleeve. Not like these young punks you see with ink all over their faces,” he teased, and Crowley laughed softly. “Only you would likely ever know it was there.”

Crowley nodded softly. “Yeah. Yeah...only, you know, you'd—I'm a _demon_ , you know, you'd have a mark of me, and you're an _angel_...”

“You're my true love,” Aziraphale reminded him. “I don't work for Heaven. I choose you.”

So an hour later Aziraphale was in the tattooist's chair, getting a black feather applied to the inside of his left forearm, just as big and bold as Crowley's. “Big, for a first tattoo,” the artist told him.

“Probably only tattoo,” Aziraphale said. “But I love him.” He smiled up at Crowley.

Crowley healed it afterward, in the privacy of the Bentley, so Aziraphale didn't have to flash his forearm all over town, or go without his long jacket.

Forever after, when they held hands, Aziraphale's left hand perennially laced through Crowley's right, their tattoos pressed together. Aziraphale's never showed and Crowley's rarely did, but they both always knew.

* * *

Aziraphale had to make the evening _perfect_. It was the sizzling height of summer, and Crowley was inclined to lay around at home, in the air conditioning, his snake side coming through as he took long naps in the sun, but Aziraphale insisted that they go out.

It had been a year. They'd gone to Adam's birthday party a few days prior, but now it was the anniversary of the first day that wasn't supposed to happen. _Their_ anniversary, the day they'd survived their trials and gotten together.

Aziraphale wheedled him into dressing up a bit more than usual with the promise of doing the same, and Crowley found it worth the effort when he came downstairs and found Aziraphale wearing a bit more blue—not his usual pale shirt, but a new suit in powder blue, and white underneath.

Crowley let out a whistle. “This is a big night for you, then?”

“Of course it is,” Aziraphale said, smiling warmly. “Maybe a year isn't so long for us, really, but...you know, I never thought it would happen.”

Crowley came close and hugged him, nuzzling at his neck. “Mmm. Like this cologne.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I know,” he said. “That's why I wore it.” He held Crowley close for a moment. “You look nice, too.” Crowley had opted to go a bit flashier, a bright red button-down and a black waistcoat with no jacket, hair half pulled back.

Crowley grinned. “You told me to,” he reminded Aziraphale. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

Aziraphale kissed him softly. “Now I am.”

They were both oddly nervous during the car ride, even holding hands, with Aziraphale pressed close to Crowley's side.

Aziraphale had actually made a reservation for them for once, wanting to be very sure they had their same table from the year before, and he felt it would be in poor form to leave someone else disgruntled to have it. Crowley opted to eat, indulging in a rich meal with his angel, sipping champagne—two bottles, by the time they got to ordering dessert.

“It's been a good year,” Crowley said, smiling at Aziraphale. “The best year.” He held up his glass. “To my beautiful bastard,” he toasted.

Aziraphale looked back at him adoringly. “To my distinguished demon,” he said, and they clinked glasses gently. “It was worth all the other years, to have this one with you.”

“Oh, don't make it sound like we only get one,” Crowley said. “We have years and years. Lifetimes. I want to spend it all with you, angel.”

Aziraphale watched him for a moment as he sipped at his champagne. “I've been thinking about that,” he said. “Spending lifetimes with you.” He smiled and reached over to squeeze Crowley's hand before the demon could worry that he meant something else. “That's all I've ever wanted.” He took a deep breath. “And—and I know we have the cottage now, and you're committed to me. But...there's one thing...”

Crowley straightened up a little bit. “Something I've forgotten?” he asked, softly.

“Not exactly.” Aziraphale pulled away, and then he was backing his chair up, confusing Crowley even more, until he was dropping forward, onto one knee.

Crowley gasped and covered his mouth with both hands, and a few heads turned. Silence fell over the restaurant for several tables around. Aziraphale felt the nervousness tick upward, now that there was an audience, but he focused his attention on Crowley. “Darling...we've been by each other's sides so long, and had the most wonderful year of our lives together now...” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a black velvet box. He opened it up, showing off the darkened silver band, carved with ivy designs, set with a black stone. “I would love for you to do me the incredible honor...will you marry me, Crowley?”

Crowley had to slip his glasses off, set them on the table, and wipe at his eyes. He kept them down and was thankful for the lower lighting, not necessarily wanting to flash his snake pupils for everyone. “Oh, angel...” He didn't answer right away, and it was Aziraphale's turn to start worrying.

Crowley fumbled in one of his pockets, and finally pulled out what he was looking for—an antique silver ring, covered in fine filigree, with a pale aquamarine gleaming. “I've been carrying this around since March, waiting for the right moment,” he said, softly.

Aziraphale stared at the ring on Crowley's palm, and his mouth dropped open. “Oh—“

Crowley grinned. “Yes, angel, of course I'll marry you. If you marry me.”

Aziraphale teared up, and he got up to throw his arms around Crowley. Crowley stood with him to hug him properly. “Of course—of course I will, of course I want to get married,” Aziraphale said. There was a soft smattering of applause from surrounding tables and he pulled back to wipe at his eyes. “Oh—oh, thank you, everyone—I'm so _happy_ ,” he said. “Darling, try it on!” he said, proffering the box again, and Crowley took it and sat down again. Aziraphale sat with him.

Crowley slipped his ring on and held it closer to the candle on the table for a better look. “It's got plants,” he said, fondly.

“I saw one like it—at the jeweler—I had this one made,” Aziraphale said. “The other one was gold and—and—well, I didn't think you'd like it, but—“

“It's perfect, angel,” Crowley assured him. “Couldn't have dreamed up something so perfect myself. Yours is an antique,” he said. “I—I wasn't sure, I wasn't looking for a certain thing, but I saw that—and—“

Aziraphale nodded. “I love it,” he said, and he put it on—a perfect fit, no miracle required. Aziraphale held the ring up to the light, admiring the soft sparkle of the square stone.

“Matches your eyes,” Crowley murmured, and slid his glasses back on lest anyone notice how uncool he was being just then.

Aziraphale put his hand to his heart. “Oh—oh my,” he murmured. “It does, doesn't it? You're so sweet, that's lovely...”

“They're not anything alike, but I suppose we can get matching wedding bands,” Crowley mused. “When—when were you thinking? For the wedding?”

Aziraphale blushed softly. “Oh...as soon as possible, I suppose. Of course it'll take quite a bit of planning, even if it's rather a small wedding...”

Crowley could already see the gears turning. Aziraphale had probably imagined what he would do at a wedding if he got to plan one centuries before he would consider getting married himself. “Right, right...probably let you handle most of it, you—you have a knack for these things...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can handle the honeymoon,” he added, with a devilish grin. “Only, one thing for sure, about the wedding, angel...”

Aziraphale nodded solemnly. He would make note and include anything that was important to Crowley. “What's that, my love?”

“You know we can't have it in a church, right?”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I tried very hard to British, but if I've flubbed it somewhere, that's on me, please let me know and I can make corrections.


End file.
